


Falling Sky: An Introduction

by IronVixen (MagpieWords)



Category: James Bond (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Art Theory, Bad Flirting, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Peggy is M, SHIELD, Sassy Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers is James Bond, Tony Stark is Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWords/pseuds/IronVixen
Summary: In which 007!Steve meets his new quartermaster and Q!Tony meets his infamous agent. They're both pretty unimpressed with each other.





	1. The Agent

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much a rewrite of the art gallery scene from Skyfall. I really love the subtly and snark in that scene, but wanted to expand it and make it gayer.

Museums would always be Steve’s favorite drop point. The smoky bars and back alleys were an adventure, to be sure, but the change of pace to simply stroll through the sunlight filtering down from frosted skylights was refreshing. Few of his colleagues were art enthusiasts, so these trips were unfortunately rare.

Ever punctual, Agent Rogers arrived at the National Gallery of London five minutes before the drop time. While there was no time to fly all the way back to the states, as he was in the middle of a high profile mission, there were a few minutes to spare walking around the classics. He blended in with the other museum goers, his suit perfectly pressed despite the combat he’d found himself in the night before. Fortunately, the assailants from this mission seemed no where to be found as he visited the Greco-Roman statues decorating the first floor. It seemed second nature now, to study the sculptures and survey his surroundings all at once.

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he had a free night to sketch something, let another the last chance he had to sculpt. They were both soothing art forms, but sketch work could be done in frantic motions between transports of a mission. Sculpting was hours of wet clay caking his hands or the rush of power from a chisel in his grip. For a moment, Steve let his heart ache for that life that could have been, for the art school degree that remained uncompleted. There was no denying his true calling though, his duty to all that SHIELD stood for. His addiction to the rush of battle.

His heirloom watch, which should have been too old to tick but somehow kept perfect time, informed him of two minutes until he was to pick a location for the drop. He settled on a bench in front of a 19th century Turner piece, awaiting the arrival of his rather mysterious new coworker.

The text from last night, trilling on his phone as he was in the heart of defending against three armed attackers, he nearly cost him his life in its’ way of distraction. The content of the text had asked for 007 to pick a spot in the museum and ‘he would be found’. The cryptic tone coming from an unknown number had nearly cost the phone its’ life as Steve was two seconds from throwing it into the Thames.

Once the fight had properly concluded (three unconscious men, two empty ammunition clips, and one knife wound to be wrapped) Peggy had called him and cleared everything up. She assured him her replacement was using the most secure means to contact an agent for a drop off, save for sending a self destructing message.

“I suppose we don’t really go in for that anymore.” Peggy had laughed. Steve didn’t comment, but he had loved her combustible letters.

She really did make a fantastic M and Steve was thrilled to be working under her command, but he would miss knowing the weapons he depended on were designed by her lethal hands. Hopefully her replacement would suffice. However, the new Q was now ten minutes late for the drop off; texting and tardiness did not make a good first impression.

Steve schooled his expression, not evening realizing his brows were furrowed until a young man occupied the space next to him on the bench. He glanced at the man before turning his head back to the painting. He at least had to look at someone with the nerve to sit so close. The move was either annoying or impressively bold. Steve had to make sure the young man wasn’t an enemy agent. Certainly it wasn’t an excuse to look at cute, short brunette. Steve didn’t have a type, not at all.

The young man’s dark hair was windswept, as though he’d just stepped off his motorcycle before arriving at the museum. But the oxford cloth button down and overpriced shoes told another story – fresh out of college, likely at a Buzzfeed type start up in the city, trying to impress the world in his oversized glasses and probably overrun mouth. And he was wearing a raincoat, of all things. Steve knew it rained in London, but surely something that heavy wasn’t necessary on a nearly sunny day like today. Must be a tourist. Still, the young man was cute. On a different day, Steve would have loved to tap into his often underutilized honey pot skills to make something more out of the close seating arrangement. Today, Steve needed to focus his skills on work, on saving the world.

“It always makes me feel a little melancholy.” Oh no, now he was talking to him. Steve kept his eyes on the art; maybe if he ignored the other man, he’d go away on his own before the new Q showed up. Otherwise, Steve would have to find another stop, and he was rather fond of this admittedly melancholy painting.

Actually, not many people realized that about this painting. On a different day, Steve would have been impressed with the kid’s unexpectedly refined eye.

“A grand old warship,” the Buzzfeed wannabe continued, “being ignominiously hauled away to scrap.

Today, Steve supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to be unimpressed. So much for refined. If the kid dropped another seven letter, overinflated word at him, Steve might actually laugh in his face. And that would be rude, beyond blowing whatever shred of subtly his presence held in what was supposed to be a high level security drop point.

“The inevitability of time, don’t you think?” He sounded smug and Steve made the mistake of sparing him a glance, confirming his expression matched the tone. Also confirming that those warm brown eyes blinking from behind the wide lenses was distractingly adorable. He had been hoping the eyes he’d been feeling on him were from an unseen Q, not his unexpected and cute bench-mate. 

Cute or not, Steve knew an insult when he heard one. The Agent wasn’t the youngest at SHIELD but he was far from the oldest. Regardless of age, 007 was one of the best field agents they had. There will be no hauling him away to scrap any time soon. Kids these days, going around insulting strangers just for having a few years on them. What happened to respect your elders? 

“What do you see?” It was easy to hear whatever remains of restraint the young man had in his expression bloom into an outright smirk. 

On a different day, Steve could give light to the associate art degree that was so long out of use, verbally taking apart the desperate-to-impress millennial. While his art critic had merit, Steve had always believed the piece to be about the pains of reinvention, about how the grand old ship still churned on as it’s parts were redefined to conquer the seas in new ways. On a different day, Steve could show the young stranger exactly how much Steve was not at the disadvantages of the ‘inevitability of time’.

Today, Steve had a new quartermaster to find.

“A bloody big ship.” He donned a fake accent, voice gruff as he glanced down. Best not to have the kid get too clear a look at his face, to protect his identity. Certainly not to avoid getting lost in those wide, eager eyes, or falling for the pout he knew was forming on those young, plush lips. “Excuse me.”

“Double Oh Seven.” His code name was said so drawn out, almost elegant, on the edge of bored. Steve hadn’t even gotten half way up from the bench, but as he sat back down, it pained him to think of how he’d actually have to take the young man apart now. Even if he was an enemy agent, did the kid have to say his name so loudly? Perhaps it wasn’t actually loud, perhaps the hall was just quiet, perhaps it was only the echo of that sharp but sweet voice replaying itself in Steve’s head.

“I’m your new quartermaster.”

Oh.

Not much surprised Steve these days, so he was impressed with the kid for that. He gave a small sigh, glancing about the room to ensure the other patrons hadn’t noticed the small scene. 

“You must be joking.” Irritation spilled into his natural Brooklyn-esque voice. He kept his eyes forward but could see the restrained smile returning to the young quartermaster’s face. It was a pale attempt at professionalism, youthful eagerness in the face of a challenge he thought he could win. So naive.

“Why because I’m not wearing a lab coat?” He said, as though the raincoat was somehow better.

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was Peggy’s replacement? This kid thought he could just show up and rebuild the world of international espionage? Steve had seen enough over cocky recruits in the new field agents SHIELD had been acquiring. He’d managed to knock most of them down a peg or two, out of the clouds of their egos and back down to reality. Some punk fresh out of undergrad? Quartermaster or not, it’d be no different.

“Because you still have spots.”

The new recruit’s smile turned brittle before sliding into something carefully neutral. His words were almost a mumble, “My complexion is hardly relevant.”

He wasn’t looking at Steve anymore, keeping his eyes forward on the painting. His fingers twitched against where they rested on this knee, a half repressed fidget. The young man couldn’t possibly deflate at one critique, especially after dishing out insults-via-art so confidently before. If he couldn’t handle a simple conversation, he’d be of no use to Steve. The verbal dance had his second favorite part about visiting Peggy in the lab for a new weapon. The best part, of course, being the weapon itself. Which of course brought them back to the true issue at hand. 

“Your competence is.” Rogers pressed forward, not sparing a second for sympathy. If the quartermaster couldn’t keep up, he’d be left behind. If he couldn’t handle harsh, he didn’t belong in this business.

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.” 

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”

The quartermaster didn’t so much as a blink, seeming to keep pace with the agent just fine. His voice became even, sure of himself. There was the tiniest twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth, a very different and very welcome version of the cocky grin from early. So he could do subtle. Steve was almost impressed. Maybe this could still work out.

“I’ll guarantee,” The word was said like a curse, “I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my second cup of coffee than you can do in a year in the field.”

“Second?”

“Nothing happens before my first cup of coffee.” The twitch of a smile grew back towards a smirk and Steve felt himself losing patience again.

“Well, I certainly wont be fetching your morning coffee. So what do you need me?”

That made the young man pause. “Every so often a trigger has to be pulled.”

Steve had thought their banter was becoming something light, a dance of it’s own between their differences in experience and skill sets. There was a bitterness to the young man’s words now. Steve turned, seeing his counterpart’s face still forcing neutral in its gaze at the painting. It was no guarantee, but he had a guess where the bitterness was from.

“Or not pulled.” The quartermaster turned to him as Steve spoke. “It’s hard to know which in your pajamas.”

He gave the slightest nod, confirming Steve’s guess just before their eyes met. It was no guarantee, but this could work.

The agent offered a hand. “Q.”

“Double-Oh Seven.” The handshake was brisk, their eyes never once parting. Q managed to say his name in a remarkable way, all the elegance of before but with a very different and very welcome change of tone. Steve might have been so bold as to think it was admiration, though that could have been his own hopes clouding his perception.

On a different day, Agent Rogers would have to find out how many different ways he could get Shield’s latest recruit to say his name.

Q handed him an envelope. “Ticket to Shanghai, documentation and passport.”

Today, they had a mission. Back to business then. “Thank you.”

“And this.” Standard issue equipment box, though smaller than Steve was used to receiving from his previous Q, though short size was no guarantee of lacking content. After all, his new Q didn’t look much taller than Peggy, and likely wouldn’t be wearing heels very often. He flipped open the lid.

“Walther PPK/S nine millimeter short.” Q continued, “There’s a micro-dermal sensor in the grip. It’s been coded to your palm print so only you can fire it.”

Steve could admit that was a guarantee of innovation. He looked at Q but the young man had his eyes on the painting again.

“Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement.” His voice had fallen back into a mumble and he glanced at the agent for only a moment before his eyes darted down to study his overpriced shoes. Steve had to fight down a smile. Not many weapons designers took the time to bio-code for their agents. On a different day, it might have been sweet.

Today, they had a mission. There was an empty square in the internal support of the box. An international weapons drop wouldn’t just be for one gadget. “And this?”

Q reached into the front pocket of his button down, handing Steve a sliver of metal that could have fit perfectly in the empty square.

“Standard issue radio transmitter. Activate it and it broadcasts your location. Distress signal.” The quartermaster’s bottom lip found its’ way between his teeth for a moment before he concluded with an almost disappointed “And that’s it.” His eyes were still on his shoes.

Rogers slipped the transmitter into its square, closing the box. It wasn’t nothing, at least that could be said for his first gifts from a new quartermaster. In fact, it really was something else entirely.

“A gun and a radio. Not exactly Christmas is it.” The agent knew he sounded unimpressed.

“Were you expecting an exploding pen?” For the second time today, possibly the second time all year, Steve was surprised when the quartermaster threw the unimpressed tone right back at him. They looked at each other again and that sly smirk returned to Q’s face. “We don’t really go in for that anymore.”

An equally sly grin broke through Steve’s expression. He’d have to ask the new M why exploding pens were no longer in fashion; they had been fun. Though, he supposed this new gun would be fun too. This new Q was certainly something else entirely.

He seemed reluctant to do so, but the quartermaster rose from the bench and crossed in front of the agent. He glanced at the painting one last time before meeting the eyes of his agent again. “Good luck out there in the field.”

They shared a nod but the quartermaster continued, “And please return the equipment in one piece.”

Having earned the final word, Q walked out of the gallery without turning back again. His raincoat stood out among the other museum patrons until Steve watched him take the stairs down to the main level.

Strange request, asking to have a bio-coded weapon returned when no other agent would be able to use it. But for his new Q, Steve supposed he could obey and return in one piece. 

“Brave new world.” He mused, before leaving the bench and heading the opposite direction his counterpart had gone. With the lack of descending stairs that way, Agent 007 simply had no other choice but to make his way to the roof and cross a few buildings over. The backflips as he jumped high above back alleys and side streets probably weren’t necessary at his age, but after that meeting, he definitely didn’t feel like he was at the disadvantage of time.


	2. The Quartermaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark had earned the title of Quartermaster, and he had damn well earned 007's respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took forever to write. Enjoy Tony's point of view, with a healthy dash of "Howard Stark is an asshole" and the consequences that go with it, because I guess I'm always going to write Tony like that.

The flight to London hadn’t exactly been unpleasant, but it wasn’t exactly something Tony had been eager to do. He’d had this job for just over a week now and they were already shipping him around the world to cater to the great ‘Rogers, Steve Rogers.’

Tony grew up hearing the stories of the agent. He was suave, sharp, and the best in the business. At least Tony had finally measured up to be two of those things, not that Howard seemed to notice. Howard never once brought him into SHIELD, yet he insisted the secretive agency was a Stark legacy to be protected by a Stark heir. The agents he had started to meet at the New York headquarters were still under the assumption that Tony had only inherited the title of Quartermaster because Howard had played favorites. The idea would be a riot if it wasn’t so insulting. 007 was Howard’s favorite and if the man had any other heir, they’d be an easy pick over Tony. M had hired him, who had been the Q after Howard had left the position to become C and – the codenames were so stupid. Especially since the organization’s most prominent field agent was known to the whole world by his full name and choice of cocktail.

Tony was no spy, certainly not like Rogers, but when Howard wouldn’t teach him anything, Tony had quickly learned how to sneak around and teach himself. Now he was sharp and the best in the business of being a technologies expert. Suave had backfired when M informed him the text message he’d sent to Agent Rogers had almost caused the agent to trash his phone. M had laughed about it though, had still praised him for his innovation. She’s been an inspirational quartermaster, but Tony thought she was much better suited as M. Peggy was talented in the lab, for sure, but she commanded a room like she was born to do it. And watching her go toe to toe with Howard over Tony’s hiring had been pretty great.

His underused sneaking skills were being dusted off as he wandered around the National Gallery. Rogers wasn’t exactly easy to find, but Tony didn’t need to be a genius to identify the muscular blond. Besides, he was pretty sure there were more pictures of 007 than him lining the walls of the Stark family home.

Finding the agent was the easy part, but now Tony remained in the peripheral of 007’s vision as the minutes ticked on. His stalling was making him late, but how was he supposed to start this? Walk up to Rogers and hand him the gun? No, he needed a plan but he found himself frozen. If Howard and Rogers got along so well, there was no way the agent would even tolerate Tony.

He reached for his phone, ready to slide the weapon’s drop off somewhere behind the Turner painting Rogers seemed focused on and shoot the agent a snarky text to pay more attention to what was right in front of his eyes. Honestly, Tony was used to being treated like he was invisible, but SHIELD’s best agent should be able to pick up someone circling him from the sidelines. Even if that someone was rather small in stature.

Even if that someone wasn’t a spy, Tony was the best in the business and the agent was going to know that. He had no idea who Tony was, wasn’t around to hear the gossip about the Stark heir, didn’t hear everyone say Tony was too young to build the future of international espionage. Tony had no reason to be intimidated by him. The man could hardly handle a text message. Tony had to fly across an ocean so he might as well have a little fun with the outdated agent. And with a raincoat that fit him instead of a lab coat two sizes too big, Tony was in the perfect position to show Rogers what the future of this business would look like.

Phone returned to his pocket, the quartermaster strutted to his agent, sitting so close their thighs touched. He almost lost focus at being this close to the world’s best and finally understand how he had earned that title. Oh sure, Tony had read the reports, but now the honey pot missions from Rogers’ early years made much more sense. The reports hadn’t mentioned his obsession with 19th century paintings though. Tony still didn’t really have a plan for starting this exchange, had impulsively gone in with just the plan to attack. Art could be an attack, he supposed, if he was sharp about it.

“It always makes me feel a little melancholy.” Tony didn’t spare the agent a glance, but knew he had earned Rogers’ attention. It was more of a rush than he cared to admit. On top of that, the particular brand of silence from 007 almost seemed like an agreement of the assessment of the painting. The young quartermaster squashed whatever flurry of happiness at the approval. He’d have to push harder.

“A grand old warship,” He gave Rogers a pointed side eye, the comparison clear, “being ignominiously hauled away to scrap. The inevitability of time, don’t you think?”

The agent was a professional, his face wouldn’t give away too much, but just the slightest narrowing of his eyes told everything. Tony knew he would be right, but it was thrilling to have his theory about Roger’s sore spot confirmed. The future was coming and there was nothing Steve could do to stop it. And Tony would be that fabulous future. He looked back at the painting, knowing he’d earned the grin he was sporting.

“What do you see?” The agent still hadn’t said anything, so Tony prompted him. He didn’t want to outright crush Steve on the first go. That’d be a bit disappointing. He and Steve were going to be working together after all; it’d be fun to have a bit of a repartee. If anything, this was an olive branch, a chance to return the volley of art based insults. He almost laughed at what the day had become – art based insults, from an engineer, who would have thought? 

“A bloody big ship.” 

It was only a heartbeat between words, but the world froze. The words were, of course, disappointing, the accent more so. But that was a matter to be dealt with when  
Tony could breath again.

He had trained his whole life for a job he wasn’t supposed to know existed, required to learn everything about every agent he wasn’t supposed to hear about. Of all the top secret people Howard worked with, Tony heard the most about his particular man. He knew Steve Rogers was suave and sharp but finally having that directed at him was something else entirely. Whatever long held anger he had for his father’s favorite melted into a disturbing sense of understanding – 007 was a person worthy of being adored. Tony had met movie stars and millionaires; he didn’t consider himself to be the type to get star struck. The agent barely said four words – words not even directed at him! – and Tony felt like begging for more. 

That was the problem, though. The words weren’t directed at him. They were for whatever generic, touristy, twenty-something Rogers thought he had sitting a seat too close. The agent was half way through an art history degree when SHIELD picked him up; they both knew he knew there was more to this painting than a large boat. The accent was convincing, but Tony had heard recordings of the agent, knew everything in his file – he was from Brooklyn, not Brighton like this cover would suggest. Which meant one of two things was true: Rogers was maintaining his cover because there were enemies in the gallery with them, or Rogers genuinely didn’t know who his new quartermaster was.

The former fear wasn’t very likely. Tony was no agent, but he’d kept his eye on the room in the reflection of the painting’s frame. He would have noticed anyone other than standard London art patrons with them. They were fine. Which meant the later must be true, and while that was the objectively better outcome, it felt so much worse.

“Excuse me.” Fake Accent said, moving to stand.

How naive, Tony thought, to believe a new title would make him any less invisible. Steve knew nothing about him, that included the vicious rumors and the crowning accolades. All he saw was a young man in a raincoat.

He was more than that, though. Tony Stark had earned his job as Peggy Carter’s weapons expert and was worthy of being seen. Besides, 007 should have gotten a briefing explaining a new quartermaster was hired. He should know who Tony was. If he didn’t, he was about to.

“Double Oh Seven.” He dropped just the right air of distant distain into his words, but saying the agent’s name still felt far too good on his tongue. “I’m your new quartermaster.”

Rogers dropped back down onto the bench and huffed out a half hidden laugh. “You must be joking.” His voice was finally his own, surprisingly soft but with a sharp edge of cruel wit. Above all, thoroughly New York. He threw Tony’s own distain back at him with full force. Finally, this whole trip across the Atlantic might actually be worth something.

“Why because I’m not wearing a lab coat?” It wasn’t his most clever response, but if having Rogers talk to Not-Tony was distracting, having the agent actually talking to him was enough to make his already fragile heart skip a beat. Even if their conversation was far from heartwarming.

“Because you still have spots.” The agent said icily.

He knew this was coming. If anything, it was fair after his earlier jab at the agent’s extra years. But he hadn’t been this blunt about the insult.

“My complexion is hardly relevant.” He felt more than heard his voice waver, which was unacceptable. How could 007 unravel him with so few words?

“Your competence is.”

Wait, that was what the agent had meant? Not about his lack of life experience but his perceived lack of ability? Rogers really was outdated if he didn’t know how much Tony could do with a short amount of time. While the agent was on this single mission, Tony had gotten seven projects off the ground for his division, three of which were completed on the flight over here. What had that flight even been for, just to give Rogers another trigger to pull? Bullets did not topple assailants, ideas did. Steve Rogers may have years over him, but Tony Stark did not waste time.

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.” He shot back.

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.” Rogers returned. Tony forced his eyes to hold steady on the painting, lips tight as he tried not to laugh. The agent really had no idea who he was dealing with. It was refreshing, to have a clean slate to prove himself against. If his only disadvantage was his years, Tony would have to show the agent just how innovative he could be with efficiency.

“I’ll guarantee I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my second cup of coffee than you can do in a year in the field.” Which was true. Tony’s first assignment as a junior agent on Peggy’s team had been to deal with a violent insurgency half way across the world. Her memo to him had been delayed – the natural consequence of analog communication – and by the time it reached him, he hardly had two hours to make something of the job before lives were to be lost. 

He managed to do it. Burned his lips on his drink before diving in and innovating. That’s what he did. That’s who he was.

“Second?” And yet that’s what Rogers focused on.

“Nothing happens before my first cup of coffee.” Even if the agent didn’t know of his story, Tony still took pride in it, allowing himself to smirk as he glanced at the other man.

“Well, I certainly wont be fetching your morning coffee.” Rogers sounded annoyed, which would have been fun if not for the air of resignation on his face. “So what do you need me?”

Maybe going in with only a ‘plan to attack’ hadn’t been the best idea. It had been perfectly executed, Tony wouldn’t have settled for less, but like a disturbing number of his plans, it seemed to be backfiring on him. Every report labelled Rogers as an absolute sweetheart to anyone on his side, and an absolutely nightmare to anyone not. For all this banter that he had wanted, he was still going to have to continue working with Rogers after this mission was over. This mission that flew him across the world for, hopefully, a good reason.

“Every so often a trigger has to be pulled.” That was the reason for all this. Tony made weapons, SHIELD made agents to use them.

“Or not pulled.”

That got Tony’s attention. He was good at making weapons, the best in the business, but it’s not exactly like he had many choices for his career path. He’d much rather code or create or even talk about art, than build the most efficient forms of destruction. He had assumed 007 would be like every other agent, eager to get a gun in his hands and take out the enemy. This was different. Those piercing breath taking blue eyes were different.

“It’s hard to know which in your pajamas.” The agent continued, the hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. Tony nodded without much thought to it, too baffled by the eye contact he finally had to properly respond to the teasing. But the teasing was good, was the right response he hadn’t realized he was looking for. This could work.

“Q.” Steve offered his hand and Tony took it. His palm was warm and wide, dwarfing Tony’s. They were callous, and for a second, Tony was distracted by imagining how they’d feel holding firm on his hips while -

“Double-Oh Seven.” The code name felt intoxicating to say, with the heat from a verbal battle replaced with a very different kind of heat. Tony broke eye contact, forcing himself to focus on the moment at hand. He pulled out the envelope he’d been tasked with delivering. “Ticket to Shanghai, documentation and passport.”

Disappointment flashed across Steve’s expression for a moment before cool professionalism replaced it. “Thank you.”

“And this.” The equipment box had been beside him, almost forgotten as he verbally danced with his agent. Tony gave handed it over, Steve spared it a glance before opening it. The young quartermaster hesitated. This gun had been the final test for approval from M; he’d built it only a week ago. He’d known it was going to Agent Rogers, known it would go to the best and he wanted it to be the best. In hindsight, he might have been a little overeager with the edge of the famous spy holding his technology.

“Walther PPK/S nine millimeter short,” He tried to start formally, standards specs only, but he’d have to get into all the details. He felt his face start to warm. He couldn’t look at Steve, keeping his gaze locked on the Turner painting as he pushed on with the less standard modifications. “There’s a micro-dermal sensor in the grip. It’s been coded to your palm print so only you can fire it. Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement.”

He shot a look at Steve and the agent didn’t seem bothered by the custom work. They shared the belief that this job was more than trigger pulling, so that was a comfort. That made this gun a little less intimate. Maybe. Probably not though. Tony looked away, staring at his shoes instead.

“And this?” No further comments from Steve, which was fine by Tony. He checked to see that the agent was pointing to the gap in the padding of the case.

Oh right.

He’d been bored on the plane, hovering between annoyed and enamored at the idea of a weapon’s drop with the world’s best agent. He’d read too much into the mission’s specs, into how dangerous it all was and – Howard always said he was too much of a bleeding heart.

Tony pulled the radio from his front pocket, giving it to Steve. The case was only meant to contain the gun but the quartermaster always carried some spare wires with him.

“Standard issue radio transmitter.” Not quite. It was tiny compared to their other emergency signal systems, but it would become standard as soon as he showed Peggy the specs. They’d be made for all the agents soon enough, but this first one was for Steve. From his new quartermaster. Maybe Tony had been a little jet lagged and sentimental when he built it.

“Activate it and it broadcasts your location. Distress signal.” He finished awkwardly, biting his lip. The radio was so new, the signal was only broadcast to Tony’s phone. But Steve didn’t need to know that. If he was honest, what Steve needed was a lot more equipment. This mission hadn’t given them enough time.

“And that’s it.” He kept his head down, but snuck a look at the agent. Steve seemed to contemplate the radio, almost interested with device, before sliding it in the case along with the gun.

“A gun and a radio.” His tone was unreadable, “Not exactly Christmas is it.”

No, it wasn’t. He really shouldn’t be surprised that the agent was on the edge of ungrateful, but there wasn’t anything else to give.

“Were you expecting an exploding pen? We don’t really go in for that anymore.” They met eyes again, sharing a sly smile that felt like fire and ice all at once. Tony’s heart skipped a beat that Steve was in on the strange little joke from the quartermasters’ lab.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, silent to the agent but taking away Tony’s attention. 007 was going to be late if they lingered any longer. Late to what, Tony wasn’t sure, but hopefully it wouldn’t require use of the new gun too soon.

His smile already lost, Tony gave a curt nod before standing. He felt Steve’s eyes on him, felt the pull to look back. He almost gave in, stopping himself at the last minute to look over the Turner painting once again. The old warship was still grand, far from scrap with a few upgrades in the harbor before treading out to the dangers of the open sea. His will caved and he locked eyes with Steve once more. If this mission had just given them a little more time, there was so much to learn about what was behind those deep ocean blues. Tony steadied himself with a breath, breaking their gaze. They’d have plenty of time after the mission.

“Good luck out there in the field. And please return the equipment in one piece.”

He turned without another word, the request too serious to even chance getting a joke in response. Steve’s eyes were still on him, but Tony pushed onward, heading down the stairs without a break in stride. At the foot on the steps, however, the reality of it all hit him and he nearly collapsed as he pressed his back to a painting-less wall.

Catering to the weapons needs of Rogers, Steve Rogers, was beyond what he could have hoped to predict. Bringing in the future of international espionage might not be such an uphill battle if he was working with that agent. It might actually be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both chapters feel a little rough, with motivations and internal monologues sort of all over the place, but it was fun to write and hopefully fun to read. Thank you to everyone who kudo'd the first chapter - I hope this was worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Tony's point of view coming in the next chapter. This'll be a twoshot unless I feel inspired to write more in this AU.
> 
> I take requests! Find me on tumblr: magpiewords.tumblr.com


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